


Repeat.

by kathrikat



Category: Kakos Industries (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, Evil, Gen, Hallucinations, Insecurity, Possible Depression?, Vent Writing, Writing request, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrikat/pseuds/kathrikat
Summary: You decide to step into the shoes of Corin Deeth III.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of vent writing. A little bit of a writing request.

 

Your eyes open one minute before your alarm goes off, and you continue to watch the minutes tick by long after you're supposed to be out of bed and dressed by now. Your baggy eyes blink. It burns from lack of sleep. You make yourself a poor excuse of a breakfast (toaster waffles) and go to work.

 

Board meetings.

 

 

You sit in one of the many you have today and fill your mind with something you should care about. Something about your grandfather. A good thought when you were younger, but now he added to your list of responsibilities. It was like he didn't mean anything anymore. And a bad taste arises in your throat when you think about your father. It swells against the other swirling of bad memories in your head. You're not sure why, he hadn't been bad to you. In fact, he hadn't been bad at all. You suddenly feel that there's a connection between that and your reputation.

 

 

Gracelessly, your fingers begin to tap against the meeting table with an irritated rhythm. They always say the same thing. _Da da da dum. I_ n your head you imagine them saying something along the lines of _Fuck this._

 

 

An eternity passes by, the meeting comes to an end, and afterward someone always has something to say to you. Whether it be Iele with her weird yet almost.. scandalizing(?) threats or Helga who would say things to you in her disciplinary tone, her German accent seeping through. But the words never reached your ears clearly enough. Muffled. Like listening through a wall to someone else's conversation. Sometimes you'd make witty remarks back to them, or yell even if you didn't realize you were doing it, but most of the time you'd ignore it. Why respond when you didn't bother listening?

 

 

Your body seemed to be losing more and more control of itself lately. You think it might be connected to the hallucinations of Evil you have when it's late at night and you should be filling out paperwork but really you're trying to finish Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy and questioning your life choices. When it happens it feels like your body isn't yours, your speech is muffled, and the book in your hand is held by someone else. Your lungs inflate with dead insults and etiquette that's been spoon fed to you practically since birth.

 

 

You wonder if this is a transition your grandfather went through before he became the highly respected CEO he was, and take a drink. Let the overly sweet taste of coffee drown out what you want to say and burn the back of your throat in bittersweet pleasure.

 

 

Let it go down slowly.

 

 

Exit the meeting room and ponder about yourself, the way you've been living lately. You think of it all as a stage. _You_ cast as the main character. Everyone is depending on you, but this isn't some normal, heroic story. You're what will make Evil _last_. There's a weird ache in your system when you think like that. Anger maybe? Arousal? It couldn't be the later, or, if it was, it was the strangest arousal you've ever had. Instead of instigating it, you push it down and continue your business. Someone your brain tells you-you should care about approaches your strangely stiff body. It appears as though every muscle in you has tightened in a productive fashion like you actually want to be doing what you're doing at the given moment. The person hands you poorly written paperwork (you can tell from a first glance, you've been doing the job long enough). You flash a quick smile before they turn away, hoping it looks genuine. It doesn't.

 

 

You travel back to your office, avoiding the sideways glances, and more importantly, Helga. You make sure to say hello to Soundman, who is happy as always. Hunched over his soundboard, he waits patiently for your cue to start the music for the announcements. You flash another quick smile and hope it looks genuine. It doesn't.

 

 

Next, you are the voice of your shareholders' announcements. There's a soothing feeling that washes over you at this time. You're not sure why. Perhaps it's because you can finally be yourself for the next twenty to thirty minutes. Perhaps it isn't. Your mind says that you don't care either way. Your voice says otherwise.

 

 

You receive a letter from your grandfather at this time.

 

 

It is filled with words of praise. He tells you what a wonderful job you're doing and that you can't stop now. You won't stop now or he'll be rolling in his grave and using the dark arts to bring himself back to life, just to waste your precious and numbered time.

 

Also, lay off the cigarettes.

 

P.S. something bad is going to happen to you in a few moments. You really should expect it.

 

There's an odd tightening in your chest.

 

It's not from panic.

 

You continue the announcements, managing to heave out a few numbers at the end. Most days they are coded messages to yourself in the future. Other days they are messages to long-lost allies. Today, they mean nothing. Something to fool the listeners, if, Evil forbid, they are still listening, into thinking that they actually mean something. You're is amused at the thought of someone trying to decode meaningless numbers. Forever trying to find the answer, and juuust when they think they have found it, they have to start over again.

 

 You stack and look at the useless paperwork that has somehow become your life's work. Helga blabbers to you in a stern voice, something about how "you need to work more, Corin!" and "do this and do that, Corin!", but your mind is somewhere else, somewhere far off.

 

You blink.

 

Helga's irritating voice stops and you take that as your cue to leave. To go somewhere far, far away from where you can be yourself.

 

To go home.

 

Soundman, despite the straining hard on in his pants, looks weary, and you give him an Evilfelt farewell before leaving your office to go downstairs. Your underlings are in all directions and you give a few a good tease before reaching the Division of Storage where you promptly grab your keys and coat and exit the building.

 

The outside world is breezy. The smell of the air has something more to it. Fresh bread? Pretzels? The cologne a dead family member used to always wear? Whichever option, you don't think it's good.

 

Which makes it all the better.

 

Your house is relatively clean, (your good (bad?) name mustn't be spoiled, after all) other than the pieces of paperwork that litter you small work space. It feels wonderful to finally strip off all your work clothes and slip into a robe. When you look in the mirror you don't recognize who's there. _That's_ Corin Deeth III? Your mind asks, but nothing responds. Just a faint laughter from a distant childhood. From a distant life. You take a hot bath-

 

_"Grandfather, what happened to him?"_

_"Gone. Went down with the rest of them like a helpless animal."_

_"I don't understand."_

_"You don't drown by falling in," said Grandfather, "you drown by staying there."_

-and sit there long after the water has turned cold. 

 

There's a faint, annoying humming sound when you cook yourself a late supper. It gets louder and louder the closer you get to bed. _Not good enough,_ says the humming, it's cowardice turning to malice when you try to check your emails at the dinner table. You shake your head and continue scrolling. You reach the end, and stop to answer none of them. Nothing important anyway.

 

A dark figure from the corner of your eye frightens you for just a moment, but then you remember. You remember this is what true Evil is really all about, and all that hullabaloo your brain shouts at your when you're trying to fall asleep or do your work, or at board meetings has no idea what it's talking about.

 

"Good night, Harold," You say to the dark figure. Its body glitches in and out of view like a scratched image of someone from a family photo. It could even look like a recently deceased family member if you just tilted your head a little bit to the--

 

You shut your door, and sit on your bed, putting your feet in the blankets tight. The dark figure sits in your room, always there always keeping your Evil intact. Always there; always watching. If it even does watch. Evil. Evil. Evil. You want to do Evil, so, so much Evil, but your body doesn't let you move. You are too tired to even think straight.

 

The dark figure leaves, and you feel.....empty, for lack of a better word.

 

You watch the clock's minutes tick by long after you are supposed to be asleep.

 

Repeat.

 

 

 

 


End file.
